


Electrify My Heart

by Butcher_of_Blaviken_666



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Fluff, Humor, Ineffable Husbands (Good Omens), Ineffable Idiots (Good Omens), Ineffable Partners, M/M, Not Beta Read, Oblivious, Pining, Romance, Romantic Crowley (Good Omens), Smitten Aziraphale (Good Omens)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-12-02
Updated: 2020-03-18
Packaged: 2021-02-26 17:41:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 3,473
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21652384
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Butcher_of_Blaviken_666/pseuds/Butcher_of_Blaviken_666
Summary: He just needs The Big One. An outing to top all the other outings. Tilting his head to the side, an Idea begins to form. An Idea to tell Aziraphale just how much he means to him.
Relationships: Aziraphale & Crowley (Good Omens), Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 5
Kudos: 30
Collections: Good Omens Holiday Swap 2019





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [emandrea](https://archiveofourown.org/users/emandrea/gifts).



> Hello fellow nerds!  
> I have always been the silent reader in the AO3 community, I leave kudos and comments galore but never write my own content. I blame it on being overly self critical and extreme anxiety. I decided to get out of my comfort zone and I signed up for the Good Omens Holiday Swap with the insistence and help of my Angel and Partner, Goose. If you're reading this, I love you ineffably. 
> 
> For emandrea,  
> I have poured a lot of love into this story for you, and I do hope you like it! 
> 
> The title comes from Jack Stauber's "Buttercup" which I don't own.  
> Good Omens and any characters mentioned belong to Neil Gaiman and Terry Pratchett , I don't make money off this.
> 
> I will update every Sunday. But knowing me it'll probably be earlier or later. I'm soooo changeable!

Fine, I'll do it sometime,  
I'm locked up on the button,  
Can't you do it sometime,  
Pushed it in too far

The day had started like any other after the Nope-pocalypse had been adverted and the “trials” of a certain Angel and Demon had failed spectacularly. (Or succeeded spectacularly depending on who you ask.) Said Angel and Demon spent every day together following The End of the World That Had Not Come. They went on picnics, traveled the countryside, visited Adam, Anathema and Newt in Tadfield occasionally, fed the ducks at St. James’ Park, dined at the Ritz. To put it simply, it was nothing short of the blissful freedom they deserved. Now, my dear readers, you’re probably wondering why this story does not end here? A nightingale sang in Berkley Square. They lived happily ever after. And yet, a disgruntled Demon sprawls boneless across his golden throne, dissatisfied and quite drunk for three o clock in the afternoon on a sunny summer Saturday. Queen’s Killer Queen begins to play loudly on the TV behind him as he takes another giant swig of Glenfiddich (50 year old single malt whiskey, he has standards) straight from the bottle. He runs a hand across his tired face, rubbing his golden serpentine eyes for the one-thousandth time that day. 

What could a Demon who’s no longer in the tight clutches of Hell have to be so disgruntled about you might ask dear reader? Well, you see, this Demon has a very specific aversion to certain four lettered words. He shudders vehemently at words like kind, nice and good when used in his direction. He’s a Demon for Chri – for Sa – for Someone’s sake. Even though he doesn’t work for Hell directly anymore he still has an image to uphold thank you very much. But there’s one four lettered word he’s been burying deep inside himself for six millennia now, keeping it bottled up tight for a certain Angel whom he never thought he’d get the chance to tell for fear of certain death. 

But now he has the chance. 

They no longer work for said respective Head Offices. No longer on opposite sides. Retired. Saying IT (three words said Demon is fretting about) becomes more and more possible every day. This, my dear reader, is where our story begins. 

Crowley has been tearing himself apart for two days now. Literally. He’s accidentally torn out many clumps of bright red hair in his fit of frustration. (Miracled right back once he realized what he was doing.) He hasn’t even allowed himself to call Aziraphale for fear that he might slip up, “go too fast” and accidentally say those three words that will destroy this tentative new Arrangement (dare he say rela-friendship) for sure. 

He won’t say it. He Wont! 

Alright…you win! He’ll say it! He’ll say it!

Crowley loves Aziraphale. 

There! He admits it! He still refuses to say it out loud though. And that’s why he takes another pull of the 18.5 thousand pound bottle of Scotch, groans very loudly and very dramatically, and rubs his eyes for the one thousandth and one time. 

Crowley can't stop his overworked brain from thinking decidedly Bad Thoughts no matter how much he drinks. Aziraphale has always adamantly reminded Crowley in the centuries past and until the day of the Apocalypse itself that they didn’t have a side, and how ridiculous Crowley was for asking the Angel to run away with him to Alpha Centauri. Crowley, feeling rejected and utterly betrayed, said some things that he didn’t really mean but he knew would hurt the Angel. Ran away with his metaphorical tail between his legs (Demons don’t have tails), got caught by the Dukes of Hell for the Antichrist mixup, killed one and narrowly escaped the other and then… Aziraphale died. (Discorporated really but Crowley didn’t know that at the time.) He can still remember how it felt; his heart shattering into a million pieces as he stumbled into the flaming bookshop screaming Aziraphale’s name, and he gave up. But then Aziraphale came back and it was like getting hit by a freight train at full speed. (He would know.) Aziraphale expected Crowley to get up and fight after everything. “Do something! Or I’ll never talk to you again!” And so Crowley threw his hands up in the air, stopped time and said Not today Satan! And it was all over in a manner of minutes. Adam denounced Satan. Apocalypse adverted. Aziraphale held his hand on the bus back to Mayfair. Went to Hell and bathed in a tub of Holy Water for him. 

“To the World."

There was absolutely no way Crowley could keep those three words inside for much longer.

Crowley growls and throws himself off his throne in a huff, the beginnings of A Bad Mood growing in his tired brain when Somebody to Love decides to play next on the TV. He stops in his tracks and whips around, now in a full blown and proper Bad Mood. 

“Abssssolutely not” he hisses at the TV with a venomous glare. It promptly skips to Another One Bites the Dust like nothing happened. 

He saunters his way to his plants, deciding to take his Bad Mood out on them. (He thinks he's sauntering but really its more of a stumble.) The bottle of Scotch clutched tightly in one hand and his new bright blue plant mister in the other. 

“Now I know what your thinking. ‘Just tell him! What have you got to lose?! He is your best friend after all!’” He rants aloud as he starts misting the plants leaves and inspecting each and every one for minor flaws he can take his frustration out on. They start to tremble in terror beneath his touch. 

“Everything!” Crowley spits, “I have everything to lossse if he doesn’t feel the ssssame way!”

He takes another gulp and notices the flowering purple Rhododendron that Aziraphale had gifted to him when he was "gardening" for the Dowlings. (Crowley KNOWS Aziraphale used miracles to keep those plants alive.) The Rhododendron refuses to quiver before him and even has the audacity to flower more.

“I know that he deservesss to know! But what can I do? It's not like I can sweep him off his feet and.."

He stops and considers what he just said, unknowingly stroking the offensive plants leaves in thought. Since the Nope-pocalypse Aziraphale hadn't once turned him down or shut him out. If anything, he was more willing to Crowley's whims and wiles then he had ever been. Always with a gentle smile that softened his pale blue eyes and an "anything you want, dear boy." There hadn't been an outing (read: date) that the Angel was reluctant to go on yet. His face usually brightened whenever he saw Crowley. He just needs The Big One. An outing to top all the other outings. Tilting his head to the side, an Idea begins to form. An Idea to show Aziraphale just how much he means to him. Now this Idea is half-baked and emerged from Demonic drunkenness but it’s still Something.

“Fuck it. In for a penny in for a fucking pound.” 

He yells one last time at the trembling plants around him to “grow better”, sobers himself up with a grunt, and grabs the keys to the Bentley. 

He has an Angel to woo.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Part 1 of 2 for the Chapter

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey everyone!
> 
> Sorry I've been MIA for a while. Finals had me super stressed and then I went back home for the holidays and started my wedding planning for next October. Needless to say I'm a little stressed out. Next term starts Monday but I'm hopeful to get the next couple chapters done quickly!
> 
> Did I mention before how much of a perfectionist I am? *sweats nervously*

Aziraphale has been rearranging his 16th century philosophy books for a few hours now. It’s a slow day, and with so much free time, he opens the shop more frequently to keep the boredom away. There are currently three customers perusing his collection (read: keeping his eye on) when he hears the tell tale signs of Crowley’s arrival. He lets out a sigh of relief at the sound of frightened pedestrians cries of alarm and of the Bentley’s roaring engine tearing around the corner and subsequent screeching halt in front of the bookshop. He shelves his first edition of The Prince back where it belongs and quickly checks the time on his golden pocket watch. Five o’clock on the dot.  
To be very honest, Aziraphale has been worried about Crowley. It started with a lovely dinner at Bocca di Lupo. Aziraphale ordered the mussels while Crowley watched him eat, unusually silent and jittery. Crowley just couldn’t seem to sit still the entire time, constantly running his fingers through his hair and clearing his throat like he wanted to say something. It made Aziraphale anxious. After Crowley paid the bill and drove him back to the bookshop, Aziraphale invited him inside for the customary nightcap. As they sat on the couch in the backroom of the shop, Aziraphale was just about to ask him what was wrong when the Demon shot up like a firework.  
“I…I’ve got to go,” He stutters with a hiss as he starts backing up towards the front door.  
“I have plants to water and I’ve got to harassss the succulents into behaving…I…I’ll call you in a few dayssss. Ok, Angel?”  
Disappointed but trying hard not to show it Aziraphale gives him a weak smile, “Oh…ok dear, mind how you go.”  
Crowley had made an unintelligible sound with a soft but slightly pained smile and left.  
That had been three days ago.  
He counted down the seconds it would take for Crowley to haphazardly park the Bentley and saunter into the shop.  
Three…Two…One…  
The bell above the door jingles gently and he makes his way to the front of the shop with the obligatory “Hello Crowley” on the tip of his tongue and a brilliantly bright smile beaming on his face. Time seems to grind to a halt as he stops dead in his tracks at the sight before him.  
Crowley is standing at the front door, a white package with a bright blue bow in one hand and the biggest bouquet of beautiful white roses Aziraphale has ever seen in the other. But this is not what causes Aziraphale to lose all comprehension and formulation of words. (He’s read many a great deal of words in his lifetime too.) No. It was the outfit.  
Crowley was wearing a suit. Not his trademark tight skinny jeans. Not his sinfully tight leather pants. A suit. And an expensive one by the looks of it. He’s wearing a jacket, waistcoat, and dress shirt all the color of midnight, pressed to perfection and perfectly fitted to his angular figure. A simple blood red tie in a classic Windsor knot fitted snugly at the throat. His hair looks like it had been just cut, short on the side and long on top, it reminded Aziraphale of 1945. He has his usual Valentino sunglasses on and a soft smile on his sharp face, yet it did nothing to hide the anxiety rolling off the Demon in waves.  
“Crowley…” Aziraphale whispers reverently, his face heating up as he turns bright red with lust.  
“Hey Angel.” He says, missing the lustful stares on everyone’s face in the shop, “I stopped by that bakery you like down the street. You know the one with the chocolate croissants? Well I picked an assortment of pastries that I thought you might like. Oh and there was this flower shop that just opened up right down the street from my flat.” He walks determinedly towards Aziraphale with a confident swagger only Crowley can manage betrayed only by the stutter and runon sentences. He stops right in front of Aziraphale, he’s so close he can smell Crowley’s unique cologne, sandalwood, jasmine, apples, with a hint of woodsmoke and brimstone. Aziraphale is quite certain Crowley can hear the nervous thumping of his heart as he opens and closes his mouth a few times in efforts to speak. The Demon thrusts the box of pastries into the Angels empty hands.  
Aziraphale doesn’t even look at the box. He’s not the least bit interested in the sweets when he has this…this…. He’s lost all words and just can’t stop staring. “What are you wearing my dear boy?”  
Crowley looks down at himself and back up at Aziraphale, an eyebrow cocked visibly from behind the shades. “Westwood.” He says like its ridiculous for Aziraphale to have even asked in the first place. “I’ll just go find a vase for these.” He says gesturing to the roses with his chin, “Have a seat! Eat! I’ve made reservations at The Ritz tonight too! I’ll…”  
A loud crash and a yelp of pain interrupts him, and Aziraphale turns and rushes towards the commotion to see just about the worst sight he has ever seen in his life.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A cliffhanger! I'm almost done with the second part of this chapter so don't you worry!
> 
> Kudos and comments are very appreciated!
> 
> 10 points to anyone who catches the Sherlock reference ;) <3


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Part 2 of 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Have an early morning surprise, my treat <3

“I’m so sorry!” 

A young burnette woman apologizes profusely while flat on her arse surrounded by books and spilled hot coffee Everywhere. Coffee on the books, coffee all over the rug, coffee spattered on the shelves, and did he mention Coffee On His Books?! Aziraphale feels the panic begin to well up inside him. All he can do is stare at the carnage.  
“I… I wasn’t looking and I tripped and oh my God I’m so sorry.” She stares up at Aziraphale with wide blue eyes rimmed red. Is she going to cry? Aziraphale feels like he might cry, or maybe scream.

He opens his mouth but he can’t make the words happen. Everyone is staring at him. The poor woman is staring up at him like he might smite her on the spot and he can’t make his mouth work! He’s lost his ability to speak! Twice in one day! Before him his precious books are still drenched, the stains setting with each second.  
“Oh…fuck.” A soft whisper behind him announces Crowley’s arrival at the crime scene. 

The woman, in tears, begins to fumble through her purse, “I don’t have much money but I’ll give you everything I have.” 

Aziraphale isn’t sure he heard her properly with the loud ringing in his ears. He just can’t stop staring at his precious books. Among the casualties are his first edition Pride and Prejudice as well as his only signed copy of Notes from Underground. His hands are shaking. The lights in the shop start to flicker. The ringing in his ears have grown so loud it’s all he can hear.

A warm hand on his shoulder brings him back to his senses. He realizes Crowley has been speaking softly to him. His warm breath tickles his ear. Aziraphale feels a shiver run up his spine.

“Breathe Angel. Breathe. That’s it. Let’s not smite the poor thing, it was an accident.” 

The hand falls down the slope of his arm in a comforting gesture to his shaking hand and gives it a gentle squeeze. Crowley easily steps in front of him, and bends over to lend a hand to the sobbing woman on the floor of the bookshop. A charming smile on his face and donning his best ‘Damage Control’ voice he speaks,  
“That won’t be necessary. Here let me help you up.”

She accepts the hand offered, “I don’t know what happened.” She buries her face in her hands, “I’m so sorry.” She’s seconds away from a complete meltdown.

Crowley snaps a miracle and all the people in the shop stand straight in attention. “I think it would be in your best interest if you were to leave now.” He waves a careless hand again in a complicated gesture, “In fact, I think all of you best be heading out now and not ever come back if you value your life.” He states matter-of-factly.

The woman and the remaining customers all leave without another word. Crowley throws a miracle towards the woman so that her clothes are clean. She will return home not sure of what she did that day and a sudden hatred for coffee. 

Crowley turns to Aziraphale who’s still wide-eyed and frozen in place. The Demon throws his sunglasses off, his amber eyes wide with worry. He gently grabs Aziraphale’s shoulders and starts speaking in a very soft voice,

“Angel it’s fine, I can miracle the coffee away if you want me to.”

“No!” Aziraphale finally snaps and notices the flash of hurt in Crowley’s beautiful eyes, “Oh my dear I’m sorry. I…I…I just… I need to….” He gestures towards the mess before him rendered speechless again.

Crowley sighs, “I know Angel.” He runs a hand through his perfectly styled hair, “I don’t know much about saving wet books but I’m sure I can find something online.” He’s taking off his suit jacket and rolling up the sleeves of his shirt as he bends down to gently inspect each book for damage while also quickly flipping through a quick Google search.

Aziraphale stares at Crowley, speechless again in the face of such selfless kindness. A blush forms hot on his cheeks as he realizes how deeply he feels for this Demon. Not only did Crowley handle the Coffee Calamity on his behalf but he comforted him too and he’s staying to help. 

“Angel?”

Aziraphale starts, realizing he’s been staring for a while. Crowley’s eyes are covered once more but the softness in his face remains.

“Thank you, Crowley. For everything.”

Crowley’s ears turn the slightest shade of red. “Don’t mention it. And I’m not being nice, it would just be a shame to lose all these books over an incompetent human.” He returns to his Google search. “Go make a cup of tea or something, your staring is making me itchy.”

Aziraphale smiles and takes a deep breath, a moment to collect himself, before doing just that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy New Year! May 2020 bring you light, prosperity, and good fortune. Blessed be <3


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, my term is over and I have not job right now thanks to corona. Maybe we'll get this finished finally!

“What the fuck was that?!”

Crowley growls as he throws the door open to his flat pissed off that his perfect date was absolutely ruined by a fucking human. He rips the blood red tie off his neck and massages his temples letting out a bone deep sigh of exhaustion. He’s been helping Aziraphale for the last five hours, the stubborn bastard has a ‘proper’ way of ‘doing things’. They missed their dinner reservations and now Crowley is more agitated than ever. 

He grabs the plant mister and decides to harass his garden for a little. The rich and vibrant green plants stand to attention at the agitated stare of the demon. 

“That plan was foolproof! Are you listening oh great and powerful Almighty? Foolproof!” He gives up on misting and throws the mister across the room hitting the eagle podium he stole from the church in WWII. 

He tears the expensive jacket off throwing that across the room too. He inhales deeply, practicing his deep belly breaths for a solid five minutes. When he finally calms down enough to not take it out on the next thing he sees, he sits down heavily onto his throne and ponders what to do next. 

“I guess it doesn’t need to be anything dramatic. A picnic at St. James’ Park sounds like something Aziraphale would enjoy greatly.” He talks to himself out loud. He stares up at the ceiling and sighs, “Sometimes I wish you would just fucking respond to me.” He says to Her quietly. He immediately scoffs “Right, demon and all.” Like he could ever forget. 

He picks up his antique phone and dials the only number he knows. He gingerly puts the receiver to his ear and listens to the ringing. 

“Hello, A.Z. Fell and…”

“It’s me, Angel.” Crowley says gently, interrupting the Angels spiel. “How are your books?” 

“Crowley,” he hears Aziraphale’s breathy response and it stirs something deep in his belly, “It’s been an absolute nightmare." He hears the Angel fretting over the phone, "I’ve just about given up on my copy of Don Quixote but it’s a third edition so it’s not that important, oh Crowley but you’ve been so helpful, thank you so much.”

“It’s not a problem Angel.” He replies, trying to brush it off as nothing.

“But my dear boy, please let me show you my gratitude.” Aziraphale says. 

Crowley’s cheeks heat up at the innuendo. He knows the Angel doesn’t mean it like that, he inhales again, “Actually, I was hoping you’d like to go to St. James’ Park tomorrow? Maybe have a picnic? Feed the ducks? Whatever you want.”

“Oh, my dear that sounds lovely!” Aziraphale gushes over the phone, “ I can make little sandwiches and I have a bottle of Dom Perignon somewhere…”

Crowley smiles over the phone, “Whatever you’d like Angel.” He cringes, that’s the third time he’s used that word this conversation. Go..Sa…Someone he’s desperate. “I’ll pick you up at eleven o’clock?”

“Eleven o’clock.” Aziraphale confirms. 

“Great. Um, bye.” Yup…totally desperate.

“Goodbye dear.”

Crowley hangs up the phone satisfied with himself and snaps a bottle of Jack into appearance taking a deep pull straight from the bottle. He’s going to get his chance tomorrow.

**Author's Note:**

> Let me know what you think! I'd love to hear some feedback and thoughts! <3


End file.
